


Rumble Pains

by johnny cade (johnnycake)



Series: Switchblades and Leather [20]
Category: The Outsiders (1983), The Outsiders - S. E. Hinton
Genre: Angst, Fighting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 21:35:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14923256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnnycake/pseuds/johnny%20cade
Summary: There's a rumble in Tulsa before the church fire and after Johnny got jumped.





	Rumble Pains

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be up the day before yesterday, but i didn’t even start writing it until 4 a.m. yesterday night, which is usually when i go to bed, but then i was depressed all the next day, so that’s why this took forever to be written.

For some reason, it always seemed to rain before, during, or after rumbles. It was like the universe somehow knew what was going to happen in Tulsa that night and made sure the weather coordinated to work within the parameters of the event. And as Johnny stared out the window of the Curtis living room, his chin in his hand, his brown eyes turned upwards, watching the clouds swirling overhead and the wind whipping through the trees, he knew that tonight would be no exception to this rule.

Rumbles didn’t happen over nothing. Not in Tulsa. Johnny had heard stories from Dallas about the gang wars in New York that made the rumbles here look like play fighting, but that didn’t mean the ones here weren’t violent or had the potential to be deadly. Not even that long ago one of the greasers in Tim Shepherd’s gang had gotten killed during a rumble. They’d had a funeral for him and everything. Of course, no one did anything because it was a greaser that got killed by a Soc and not the other way around, but it sort of proved the point.

Rumbles in Tulsa didn’t happen over nothing and weren’t horrific, but they could be deadly.

And tonight especially. Despite hating fights and the fact that any type of violent scared him, Johnny always fought in the rumbles. He did it because he felt he owed the gang for everything they’d done for him. But tonight the weapon was knives. Tonight he was sitting in the living room, his breathing uneven, shaking slightly, not because he was worried about _himself_ getting hurt, but because he was worried about one of the gang getting hurt or killed. Knives were sharp for a reason. They could be lethal if they got you in the right place.

The rumble was happening because a greaser had gotten killed in a hit and run. There wasn’t any concrete proof it was a Soc that did it, but everyone knew it was. The only people who drove red Cadillacs and blue Mustangs were the Socs. And the car that had hit the greaser had been a blue Mustang. The only reason anyone knew was because the greaser had had someone with him.

Johnny clenched his hand not holding his chin into a fist at the thought, in an attempt to keep it from shaking. His expression, however, didn’t change. He only swallowed hard.

The Socs that had jumped him had been in a blue Mustang.

Not long after, a group of greasers confronted the Socs about it who denied anything had ever happened. In an attempt to get them back, the greasers keyed all their cars and slashed all their tires. They also egged and toilet papered as many houses as they could before someone called the cops and chased them out of the Socs’ neighborhoods.

The greasers still didn’t understand why this upset the Socs enough to call for a rumble. Especially when it was _their_ friend who had just gotten killed. But the Soc leader had called for a meeting with Darry and Tim Shepherd and when they’d come back they’d announced there was going to be a rumble. The weapon would be knives.

Darry had looked tense when he returned, delivering this news. He was the oldest out of everyone in the gang and Johnny knew he often felt like the father of the gang because of this. Telling everyone that they were going to be in a fight where they might die stressed him out.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, bringing Johnny back to the present. He reached into the pocket of his denim jacket, never taking his eyes off the sky outside and the roiling clouds above as he pulled out his switchblade and began to play with it, flipping it open and closed, twirling it between his fingers. He tended to do that when he was nervous. And he _was_ nervous.

Rumbles didn’t happen often. They were few and far between, but when they did they were usually safe, the weapon being skin against skin nine times out of ten because no one really wanted to die. The fact the weapon this time was knives told everyone involved quite a lot. And the worst part was no one knew who was going to come out of this alive. If anyone.

He didn’t turn away from the window, but Johnny could hear the rest of the gang, talking loudly and getting themselves riled up for the rumble. Two-Bit and Ponyboy were talking loudly about something in the kitchen, but Johnny couldn’t hear them over Sodapop and Steve who were talking just as loudly in the dining room, while playing poker with a deck of cards and a stack of cigarettes, constantly accusing the other of cheating. Dallas was standing next to them with his usual smirk on his face, egging them both on. Darry was the only one who was silent, sitting in a corner, drinking a beer and watching the TV that was on a low volume in the living room. Johnny didn’t need to look for him to know that. He hadn’t moved in hours and anyone would know if he had, even without looking. The floorboards of the house creaked audibly.

Johnny’s eyes flicked for a moment away from the window and the stormy sky above to the clock that hung on the wall to the right of the window. The rumble was supposed to start at 10 p.m. or whenever it got dark enough that no one would be looking out their windows for boys fighting in the lot. It was nine forty-five now. The sun was almost down.

Darry must have noticed it too because Johnny heard a rustling behind and this time he did turn and watched Darry get up from his armchair in the corner near the end table that held the phone. He put his beer down on the end table beside it, turning towards the kitchen, and said in a voice much louder than Johnny was expecting, “It’s time to go! C’mon!”

Everyone jumped up from where they were sitting and practically skipped out the door.

The only ones who didn’t were Darrel and Johnny.

Johnny kept his eyes on the sky and his shaking hands in his pockets as they headed towards the vacant lot. A fork of lightning shot across the sky. A distant rumble of thunder followed. The wind blew through the trees and Johnny felt the first drops of rain fall onto his upturned face.

“You okay, Johnnycake?”

Johnny jumped and turned, his eyes fearful, and saw Dallas walking next to him. He relaxed slightly and gave him a small smile as he said, “Hey, Dal.”

Dally’s hands were also shoved into his pockets and he was grinning at Johnny. Dallas liked fights a lot more than just about anyone else. For him rumbles were fun, almost like play time. But that only made Johnny more nervous because he knew that kind of thinking made Dallas more reckless. He’d never gotten seriously hurt during a rumble or any fight he’d been in, really, but that didn’t stop Johnny from worrying. It only took him letting his guard down one for him to get in a deadly fight.

The rain started to fall a little harder. Just enough that everyone now could feel it on them and they all took turns looking up at the sky. It was already dark because of the storm clouds. They blocked out the remaining rays of sunlight on the horizon and turned out the moon and the stars.

“Nice night,” Dallas went on, turning his own gaze skyward. He was still grinning.

Fights put him in a good mood too.

Johnny’s eyes flicked from the trees whipping in the breeze above him to the vacant lot at the end of the road. There were already fires started in the oil drums there. Tim Shepherd’s gang always, somehow, arrived first, despite not even living in the neighborhood.

As they got closer to the lot, Johnny could see Tim Shepherd’s gang, standing around the fire, scuffing the ground with the toes of their shoes, smoking cigarettes and throwing the butts into the fire. One of them saw them coming and tapped Tim., who turned and started towards them. Once the rest of his gang saw him moving, they did too, forming a row on either side of Tim.

“Hello Darrel,” Tim said, holding his hand. The two men shook and the rest of the gang shook with the rest of Tim’s gang at the same time. “Thanks for comin’.”

Darry nodded, but he didn’t look happy. They were loyal. Loyal to a fault maybe. But loyalty meant something to greasers and that was why they were here. Even if one or more of them got hurt.

There was a roar behind them and the greasers turned as one to see a row of cars pulling in the neighborhood. They watched as they parked along the sides of the street by the lot and slowly got out. Some of them had beer cans they were finishing off and once they were done, they threw them to the ground and stepped on them, not bothering to pick them up. This wasn’t _their_ neighborhood after all.

Johnny recognized a few the Socs that came out of the cars. He recognized the ones who’d beat him up and moved without realizing it so he was standing behind Dallas. Dally looked at him out of the corner of his eye, frowning slightly, but said nothing. His hands only clenched into fists. Johnny noticed he already had his knife in one of his hands. Johnny felt his own, still in his pockets, curl around his own knife.

As the Socs crossed the lot, getting closer to the group of greasers standing in front of the fires in the oil drums, Johnny found it strange that the Socs still wore their nice clothes, even to a rumble where they knew they were just going to stain them with mud, grass, and their own blood. Johnny recognized the Soc that seemed to be leading them all. He had been Darry’s best friend growing up. It seemed sad to him that unwritten laws of the land had prevented that friendship from lasting.

The Socs stopped about a yard away from the greasers. All of them had their hands in their pockets, cigarettes hanging from their fingers and lips, and the collars of their jackets turned up. The Socs smirked at them. The greasers were trying to look tough and the Socs were trying to look like they didn’t care or weren’t scared.

That thought alone made Johnny wish they didn’t feel the need to fight.

“Hello Darrel,” the lead boy, the one who was Darry’s friend, said.

“Hello Paul,” Darry replied. Johnny couldn’t see his face, but his voice sounded tense.

The air was tense and silent between them for several moments, the greasers and Socs staring each other down, sizing each other up. And then something happened, almost like everyone’s nerves snapped at once, and the fighting broke out. The Socs and greasers rushed each other at the same time, everyone opening their blades at once, and it was then it started raining in earnest.

The Soc that rushed at Johnny was bigger than him. Almost twice his size. That wasn’t really hard to do, since Johnny was so short and small, but before too long Darry came over and pried the guy off of him, punching him on the jaw, and telling him to fight someone his own size. The guy staggered off, confused, his knife held limply between his fingers.

It wasn’t too long before another Soc rushed at him, but, surprisingly, stopped right before he reached him. Even through the rain, Johnny could see his hair was blonde and the cardigan he wore looked expensive. The Soc looked at him with surprise at first, then he smirked and Johnny drew his brows together in confusion. Then, for whatever reason, his eyes flicked to the Socs hand.

His eyes widened and his jaw dropped slightly.

The fingers curled around the Soc’s knife were covered in heavy rings.

His eyes flicked back to the Soc’s face. He was frozen. Every part of himself telling him to turn around and start running and never look back, but he was present enough to know he couldn’t do that. The gang needed him. He couldn’t leave them. And he _wasn’t_ going to be a coward.

“You’re dead, greaser!” the Soc shouted and then ran at him.

There wasn’t any Darry to come save him now, but a part of him was glad for that.

This was his fight.

Johnny jumped to one side to avoid the Soc’s knife, but the Soc had fast reflexes, much faster than most Socs did and Johnny almost fell trying to avoid him a second time. Johnny’s fingers were curled around his own blade, but he didn’t like fighting and the last thing he wanted to do was kill someone, so he didn’t really fight back with anything more than his fists, jumping from left to right to avoid the Soc, who was only getting angry.

The Soc rushed at him again, grabbing him, holding him in place and, in a panic, Johnny cut the Soc’s face with his knife.

The Soc staggered back, shocked at first, bringing his hand to his face. When it came away red, he let out a roar of rage and ran at Johnny again. Johnny didn’t move away quick enough this time and the Soc’s fist slammed into his hip.

This time it was J0hnny who staggered back and fell. He looked up quickly to see the Soc rushing him again, his knife held out in front of him, his face a grimace of fury. This time, Johnny tripped him, making him fall into the muddy ground of the lot.

Johnny watched him as he pushed himself back and forced himself to his feet again, but to his surprise one of the other Socs helped him up and started running away, back towards their cars, both of them covered in mud and soaked to the bone.

He drew his brows together again, standing in the rain, holding his knife loosely between his fingers. Then he saw the other Socs darting away from the lot, back towards their cars, and he realized that the greasers had won this rumble. He felt himself smile as the gang came and pulled him into a group hug, some of them ruffling his hair after they pulled apart, all of them shouting excitedly. They all were covered in cuts and bruises, but, miraculously, none of them looked more badly hurt than that.

“Party at my place!” Steve was shouting. Everyone roared in agreement.

They all started heading towards the Randle house, down the street and around the block, every one of them grinning from ear to ear.

Johnny turned, grinning like everyone else and stumbled. He frowned, placing a hand on his hip automatically, but there was something on his hip. It was warm and sticky. His frown deepened and his brows met in the middle. He pulled his hand away from his hip and, by the dim light of the fires still burning in the oil drums behind him, he saw it was covered in something dark and red.

But he knew exactly what that something was.

He looked up at the gang, who were all staring at him, their shocked expressions reflecting his.

That was when his knees gave out and the ground rushed up to meet him.

* * *

The only thing Dallas loved more than fighting was winning a fight and when all of the Socs started running back towards their cars, their tails between their legs, he let out a roar of victory. He wanted to beat his chest and stomp the ground like a little kid, but he resisted the urge and instead went over to give all of the gang a bear hug. He ruffled Johnnycake’s soaked hair and smiled as he smiled. He and Steve butted chests. He and Darry grinned at each other. And he, Soda, and Ponyboy all hugged each other, which made all of the rest of them hug them. Even Tim Shepherd’s gang joined in.

They all broke apart and grinned at each other. Then Steve announced the party at his place and they all roared again, tromping back through the lot towards the street. They were about two yards away from the curb when something made Dallas turn around. Johnny was behind the rest of them. Quite a ways, he noticed. As he watched, Johnny stumbled, a confused look on his face. His hand was pressed to his hip and, even at this distance, Dallas could tell there was a stain there. He knew what it was before Johnny pulled his hand away and looked at them in shock, his face white as a sheet, and Dallas could see the stain was red. Somehow the rest of the gang had stopped and turned too.

Maybe they all could tell something was wrong because it was then Johnny collapsed.

Dally never knew he could move so fast and crossed the vacant lot in record time, reaching Johnny right before he hit the ground. He caught him awkwardly, lowering him to his lap to see what had happened. He was frozen with fear, feeling cold and shaking badly as he took Johnny’s hand away from the stain around his hip.

He couldn’t see it in detail through his clothes. There was also so much blood he couldn’t really see the wound either. The blood was staining Johnny’s jeans and t-shirt and the bottom of his denim jacket. Some of it was spilling down the side of his hip to the grass below.

“Shit, shit, _shit_!” Dallas was shouting, lowering Johnny into the grass, as he quickly took off his own jacket and began pressing it to the wound in his hip.

The gang was gathering around them now, all of them looked as scared as he felt.

“Dallas?”

Dally was startled by Johnny’s voice, weak and hoarse. Barely audible around the rain that was still pouring down on them, soaking all of them, making the stain on Johnny’s jeans worse.

Without thinking about it, Dally grabbed Johnny’s hand and said, “You’re gonna be okay, Johnnycake, okay? I ain’t gonna let you die.” His grip tightened. He couldn’t live without Johnny. His death would mean his own too. He swallowed. “What happened?”

“Dunno,” Johnny replied, his voice thick, his words running into one another. “Was fightin’ the Soc. And...he hit me. I thought he just hit me. But...then I fell and my hand was covered in red.” His eyelids kept fluttering, his eyes rolling in his skull as he struggled to stay conscious.

Dallas swallowed again. Johnny was starting to get delirious. This was bad.

Then Johnny’s fingers around his own tightened with surprising force and he said, “Dallas...he was wearin’ three rings. It was the same one.”

This time it was Dallas who froze. He knew what that meant. The Soc with the rings had beaten Johnny up. Twice. Both times he’d nearly killed him from how badly he’d beaten him. And now he’d stabbed him. What would it be next? A bullet between his eyes? Dallas shuddered at the thought, rage rising in him as thoughts of the Soc filled his mind.

“Fuck it, I’m gonna get you to the hospital and you’re gonna be fine,” Dallas said, starting to move to pick Johnny up and bring him back to the Curtis place. They had a truck.

“No!” Johnny shouted immediately with surprising ferocity. His hand that was gripping Dally’s reached out with shocking quickness despite his injury and curled his fingers around Dally’s other wrist. “No, hospitals. Please...”

Dallas swallowed hard. “Johnny,” he replied, his voice soft. He didn’t talk that way with anyone else. “You’ve lost a lotta blood. I dunno how deep this is. You might need stitches.”

“Please...”

Johnny’s voice sounded so weak and desperate, the look in his eyes mirroring that so completely that Dallas took a shuddering breath and nodded.

“Okay,” he replied, his voice still soft. “Okay, fine. I’ll take you back to my place, but you can’t fall asleep, Johnnycake. Not until I tell you it’s okay, alright?”

Johnny only nodded and Dallas felt a pang in his chest.

Johnny would jump off the bridge if he asked him to. And no part of Dallas felt that he deserved that kind of devotion.

To his surprise, none of the gang insisted on taking Johnny to the hospital, though, later, he would think they probably should have. They all just followed him, silent and solemn now, their previous joy completely gone, to Dally’s house. Darry opened the front door for Dallas who had carried Johnny from the lot and set him on the couch in the living just inside the door. The gang filed in awkwardly and stood around Johnny in a loose circle while Dallas darted around the house, grabbing what he would need to patch Johnny up.

“Make sure he stays awake,” he said to Soda as he went into the kitchen to get some alcohol.

The gang pressed more tightly around him, asking Johnny things. Dallas listened to his weak answers as he pushed his way through them to Johnny’s side and set all of the things he’d gathered down on the floor next to him.

He took Johnny’s hand again, not caring who saw at this point. He wanted to reach up and brush his wet hair back from his face. He wanted to his forehead, his temple, and tell him that he loved him. But he felt like that might be pushing it.

“I’m gonna lift your shirt and pull down your pants a bit, okay?” Dallas said, his voice still quiet, not wanting to scare Johnny when he was like this especially. “I gotta do that to see it better.”

Johnny nodded, but he still flinched when Dallas began undoing his jeans’ button and pulled down his fly. He watched his hands lift and twitch, his fingers stretching slightly. He knew it was only through sheer willpower that Johnny managed to not scream and push him away. And it broke Dally’s heart to know the reasons behind this reaction.

The wound looked more manageable under the clothes and blood. It was a small wound, but deep and would need stitches. Luckily, Dallas had learned how to stitch and dress wounds when he was living in New York. He’d had to. The place was violent as all hell. People were constantly getting shot and stabbed. Most of the time they lived, but that was only if they knew how to take care of it.

Dallas poured a shot of vodka into a glass and handed it to Johnny. “This ain’t gonna taste good, but it’ll help with the pain,” he told him.

Johnny curled trembling fingers around the glass and brought it to his lips, throwing it back and grimacing as he did so. He made a face and shuddered.

Dallas sterilized the curved needle he had specifically for this purpose and then dumped some of the alcohol onto a towel. He held it above Johnny’s wound and said, “This is gonna hurt.” Then he bit his lip and pressed it to the wound.

Johnny let out a gasp and then a groan of pain, but that was it. He squeezed his eyes shut tight and grimaced and cracked his knuckles rapidly until Dallas lifted the towel, cleaned the space around the wound with it and then, threading a string of black thread through the eye of the needle and tying it off, began to stitch up Johnny’s wound.

He had his fingers curled into the edges of the couch, gripping it and grimacing the whole time, but other than that, Johnny didn’t make a sound. Neither did anyone else, but Dallas knew exactly what all of them were thinking: _Why was it always Johnny these things happened to?_

Out of all of them, they all agreed he deserved it the least and yet it happened to him the most.

Once Dallas finished stitching the wound and had once more tied off the thread, he started packing the wound. Tightly. He remembered doing this over and over again for the boys he’d known in the gang in New York. He’d become almost the doctor of the group. He was the one who could pack wounds the tightest and stitch them up the best. They’d called him the Medic as a kid.

By the time Dallas had finished packing Johnny’s wound, he was no longer afraid that he was going to die on his couch. His color was starting to come back a little bit, but he could tell he was exhausted. They were all lucky he hadn’t lost more blood. If he had, he probably would’ve died if they hadn’t taken him to the hospital. Once he tied off the last piece of gauze and used a safety pin to hold it in place, he turned to Johnny to tell him he could sleep now, but Johnny was already fast asleep, breathing deeply, looking so young when he was at peace.

The whole gang helped ease him out of his soaking clothes and when he woke up briefly in a panic at so many people touching him at once, Dallas held his hand and talked softly to him until his breathing evened once more and he relaxed again. He helped him into one of his dry t-shirts and then let him lay back down again. Johnny was asleep again in moments. Darry reached around them and grabbed the blanket off the back of the couch, draping it over Johnny who let out a soft sigh as he did.

They all stepped back and stared at Johnny, watching him sleep, all thinking about how they had almost lost him. Again. How many more times could he escape death before it finally came for him in a way that no one could protect him from?

“He shouldn’t fight in rumbles anymore,” Soda said, his voice soft. “This always happens. He don’t even like fightin’.”

No one said anything in response. They all agreed. They all knew they needed every man they could get in a fight, but this was Johnnycake. He was different.

And it was only standing there with the gang that Dallas, himself, realized just how much.

If any of the rest of them died, the gang could probably get along without them. They’d mourn, they’d be sad, they’d probably grieve and never really be the same again, but they would still be the gang. And they would still be together. Things might even be the same again years later.

But that wouldn’t happen if Johnny died.

If Johnny died, the rest of the gang would too. They’d fall apart without him.

All of them were only bricks, Johnny was the mortar that held them together.

 

**Author's Note:**

> i kinda mirrored how the rumble happened in the book cause lol idk how to start it any other way, so i hope this doesn’t seem redundant and was actually good. 
> 
> also tell me if u noticed the foreshadowing ;) 
> 
> also i realize that johnny would definitely have had to go to the hospital if this happened, but like i've said before: we bend the rules for angst.


End file.
